Chapter 3

"Ah! my friend," answered Nestor. "What woeful memories thou hast awakened by thy words!--perils by land and perils by water, long years of siege and battle, sleepless nights and toilsome days. Ill-fated land of Troy! the grave of Grecian chivalry! There lies heroic Ajax, there lies Achilles, and Patroclus, sage in counsel, and there lies Antilochus, my own dear son, fleet of foot and strong of hand. And art thou indeed the son of Odysseus, whom none could match in craft and strategy? But why do I ask? When thou speakest, I seem to hear the very tones of his voice. He was my friend, one with me in mind and heart, and during all the time of the siege we took counsel together for the weal of Greece. But when the war was over disasters came thick and fast upon the host. And first, division arose between the two sons of Atreus; Agamemnon wished to abide in Troy until sacrifice had been offered to appease the anger of Athene, but Menelaus advised immediate departure. The party of Menelaus, of whom I was one, launched their ships and sailed to Tenedos; there Odysseus, who had set sail with us, put back to the mainland of Asia, wishing to do a favour to Agamemnon. But I, and Diomede with me, set forth at once, and, crossing the sea from Lesbos, came to Euboea; thence, after sacrifice to Poseidon, I steered due south, and parting from Diomede at Argos continued my voyage, and landed safe in Pylos. Thus it happened that I was not witness of the good or evil fortunes of the other Greeks on their voyage home, and know only by rumour how they fared. Of Agamemnon's fate thou hast surely heard thyself, how he was murdered on his own hearth by the treachery of Ægisthus, and how the murder was avenged by Orestes. Happy the father who has such a son! And such, methinks, art thou."

"Ay," answered Telemachus, when Nestor had finished his long story, "I have heard of that glorious deed; and would to heaven that by the might of my hands I might so take vengeance on the evil men who have come to woo my mother, and who fill my house with injury and outrage."

"Ah! thou hast reminded me," said Nestor. "I heard of the shameful wrong which thou hast suffered. But do not despair! Who knows but that Odysseus will yet return, and make them drink the cup which they have filled? It may well come to pass, if Athene continues to thy house the favour which she showed thy father, plain for all eyes to see, in the land of Troy."

"Nay, 'tis too much to hope," answered Telemachus with a sigh, "the thing is too hard--even a god could hardly bring it to pass."

"Now out on thy faint heart!" cried Mentor, who hitherto had sat silent. "Better for him that his homecoming should be long delayed than that he should have died, like Agamemnon, fresh from his victory. Heaven will guide him yet to his own door, though now he be at the uttermost parts of the earth."

Telemachus shook his head as he answered: "No more of that, I pray thee; it can never be." Then, addressing Nestor, he said: "I would fain ask thee more concerning the manner of Agamemnon's death. Where was Menelaus when that foul deed was done? And how did Ægisthus contrive to slay a man mightier far than himself?"

"Thou askest well," replied Nestor. "Menelaus was far away, or we should have another tale to tell. And had the return of Menelaus not been delayed, vengeance would have been forestalled by many years. Yea, the dogs would have eaten the flesh of that vile churl, and not a tear would have been shed for him. But this is how it fell out: while we were toiling and warring at Troy, Ægisthus sat close to the ear of Clytæmnestra, Agamemnon's wife, and poured sweet poison into her mind. For a long while she refused to hearken to his base proposals, for she was of a good understanding, and moreover there was ever at her side a minstrel, into whose care Agamemnon had given her when he went to Troy. But Ægisthus seized upon the minstrel, and left him on a desert island to be devoured by carrion birds. Then Clytæmnestra yielded to his suit, and he brought her to his own house.

"But as to thy question concerning Menelaus, he left Troy in my company, as I told thee, and we sailed together as far as Sunium. There Menelaus lost his steersman, who was visited by Apollo with sudden death, as he sat by the helm; so he remained there to bury his comrade. But his misfortunes were not yet over; for when he reached the steep headland at Malea a violent storm arose, and parted his fleet. Some of his ships ran into Crete for shelter, while he himself was carried away to Egypt, where he remained many days, and gathered store of wealth.

"Now thou understandest why Ægisthus was able to work his will on Agamemnon, and why he escaped vengeance so long. For seven years he sat on the throne of golden Mycenæ, and grievously oppressed the people. But in the eighth year came Orestes, and cut him off in the fulness of his sin; and on that very day Menelaus came to him, loaded with the treasures of Egypt.

"Far and long had he wandered; but so do not thou, my child. Leave not thy house unguarded, while so many foes are gathered against thee, lest when thou return thou find thyself stripped of all. But to Menelaus I would have thee go; him thou must by all means consult; for who knows what he may have learnt on that wondrous voyage? Vast is the space of water over which he has travelled, not to be measured in one year by a bird in her speediest flight. If thou wilt, thou canst go to Sparta in thy ship, or if thou choose to go by land, my chariots and my horses are thine for this service, and my sons shall guide you on the way."

II

Amid such talk as this, with many a brave story "of moving accidents by flood and field," and many a pithy saw from the white-haired Nestor, who had lived so long and seen so much, the hours glided swiftly by, and the red sun was stooping to the horizon when Mentor rose from his seat and said: "We must be going; the hour of rest is at hand, and to-morrow we have far to go."

"Tarry yet a little," said Nestor, "and eat a morsel and drink a cup with us. And after that, if ye are fain to sleep, ye shall have fit lodging in my house. Heaven forbid that I should suffer such guests as you to sleep on the cold deck, covered with dew, as if I were some needy wretch, with never a blanket to spare for a friend. May the gods preserve me from such a reproach!"

"Thou sayest well," answered Mentor, "and Telemachus shall be thy guest to-night. But for me, I pray thee have me excused. My place is on the ship, that I may give an eye to the crew, for I am the only man of experience among them. And to-morrow I must go to Elis, to recover a debt of long standing due to me there. I leave Telemachus to thy care, that thou mayest cherish him and speed him on his way."

As he said these words, while all eyes were fixed upon him, the speaker vanished from sight, and in his stead a great sea-eagle rose into the air, and sped westwards towards the setting sun. Long they sat speechless and amazed, and Nestor was the first to break the silence. "Great things are in store for thee, my son," said he to Telemachus, "since thou keepest such company thus early in life. This was none other than Jove's mighty daughter, Athene, who honoured thy father so highly among the Greeks. Be gracious to us, our queen, and let thy blessing rest on me and on my house! and I will offer to thee a yearling heifer, that hath never felt the yoke. To thee will I sacrifice her, when I have made gilt her horns with gold."

Then Nestor led the way to his house, and Telemachus sat down with him and his sons in the hall. And they filled a bowl with wine eleven years old, exceeding choice, which was reserved for honoured guests. And after they had finished the bowl, and offered prayer to Athene, they parted for the night. For Telemachus a bed was prepared in the portico, and close by him slept Pisistratus, the youngest of Nestor's sons.

When Telemachus rose next morning he found his host already afoot, giving orders to his sons to prepare the sacrifice to Athene. One was sent to fetch the heifer, another to summon the goldsmith, and a third to bring up the crew of Telemachus' ship, while the rest busied themselves in raising the altar and making all ready for the sacrifice.

Presently the heifer was driven lowing into the courtyard, and the goldsmith followed with the instruments of his art. Nestor gave him gold, and the smith beat it into thin leaf with his hammer, and laid it skilfully over the horns of the heifer. A handmaid brought pure water, and barley-meal in a basket, while one of Nestor's sons stood ready with an axe, and another held a bowl to catch the blood. Then Nestor dipped his hands in the water, took barley-meal from the basket and sprinkled it on the head of the beast, and cutting a tuft of hair from the forehead cast it into the fire. The prayer was spoken, and all due rites being ended he who held the axe smote the heifer on the head, just behind the horns. The women raised the sacrificial cry as the heifer dropped to the ground; and next they whose office it was lifted up the victim's head, and Pisistratus cut the throat. When the last quiver of life was over they flayed the carcass, cut strips of flesh from the thighs, and enveloping them in fat, burnt them on the altar. The gods had now their share of the feast; the rest was cut into slices, and broiled over the live embers.

While the meal was preparing, Telemachus enjoyed the refreshment of a bath; and Polycaste, the youngest of Nestor's daughters, waited on him; for such was the patriarchal simplicity of those days. When he had bathed, and finished his morning meal, the chariot was brought out, and a strong pair of horses led under the yoke. And the house-dame came with a basket, loaded with wine and delicate viands, and placed it behind the seat. Telemachus took his place by the side of Pisistratus, who was to drive the horses; the last farewells were spoken, Pisistratus cracked his whip, and away they went under the echoing gateway, and on through the streets of Pylos.

That night they slept at the house of a friend, and early next day they continued their journey. The way grew steep and difficult, great masses of mountains rose near at hand, and at length they entered a wide valley, covered with waving fields of corn. By sunset they reached the end of their journey, and drew up before the stately portals of King Menelaus.

Telemachus at Sparta

I

Menelaus was keeping the double marriage feast of his son and daughter, and his house was thronged with wedding guests. All sat silent and attentive, listening to the strains of a harper, and watching the gambols of a pair of tumblers, who were whirling in giddy reels round the hall. Presently voices were heard at the entrance, and one of the squires of Menelaus came and informed his master that two strangers of noble mien were standing without, craving hospitality. "Shall I bring them in," asked the squire, "or send them on to another house?"

"Hast thou lost thy wits?" answered Menelaus in some heat, being touched in his most sensitive point. "Shall we, who owe so much to the kindness of strangers, in the long years of our wanderings, send any man from our doors? Unyoke the horses, and bid our new guests enter."

Four or five servants hastened to do his bidding. The horses, covered with sweat from their hard journey, were unyoked and led into the stable, and Telemachus, with his companion, was ushered with all courtesy into the great hall of Menelaus. The palace was one of the wealthiest and most splendid in Greece; and Telemachus, accustomed to a much humbler style of dwelling, stood amazed at the glories which met his eyes. After bathing and changing their raiment they returned to the hall, and were assigned places close to the chair of Menelaus.

The prince greeted them kindly, and said: "Welcome to our halls, young sirs. Ye are, as I see, of no mean descent, for Zeus has set his stamp on your faces,[1] and none can mistake the signs of kingly birth. When ye have eaten, we will inquire of you further."

[Footnote 1: In Homer, all kings and their families are supposed to be descended from Zeus.]

A plentiful and delicate meal was promptly set before the young travellers, and they ate and drank with keen appetite. When they had finished, Telemachus said to Pisistratus, speaking low, that he might not be overheard: "Dear son of Nestor, is not this a brave place! Hast thou ever seen such lavish ornament of silver, and gold, and ivory? Surely such is the dwelling of Olympian Zeus; more magnificent it can hardly be."

The quick ear of Menelaus caught his last words, and he answered, smiling: "Nay, my friend, no mortal may vie with the everlasting glories of Zeus. But whether any man can equal me in riches, I know not. For indeed I wandered far and long to gather all this treasure, to Cyprus, and Phoenicia, and Egypt, to Æthiopia, and Sidon, and the Afric shore, a land unmatched in its countless multitudes of sheep. There the ewes bring forth young three times a year, and the poorest shepherd has abundance of cheese, and flesh, and milk. From all these lands I gathered many a costly freight, and now I dwell in the midst of plenty. Nevertheless my heart is sad, when I think of all that I have lost. Had I returned home straight from Troy, I should have come back a poor man, for my house had gone to waste in my absence; but I should not have had to mourn for the death of my brother, struck down, as doubtless ye have heard, by a murderer's hand. And then the thought lies heavy upon me of all those who fell in my cause at Troy, and especially of one who was dear to me above all, Odysseus, ever the foremost in every toil and adventure. His image haunts me by day and by night, marring my slumbers, and making my food taste bitter in my mouth. He was a man of many woes, and sorrowful is the lot of his wife Penelope and Telemachus his son."

At this mention of his father Telemachus could not control his tears, but covered his face with his mantle, and wept without restraint. Menelaus saw his emotion, and began to suspect who he was; but for the present he said nothing.

A slight stir was now heard at the back of the hall, and a low murmur went round among the guests, who whispered to each other: "The Queen! The Queen!" And in she came softly, with slow and stately step, Helen, the daughter of Tyndareus, and wife of Menelaus, fairest among all the high-born dames of Greece. Her wondrous beauty was now ripened into matronly perfection, but now and then a shadow seemed to pass over her face, like the ghost of an old sin, long repented and forgiven. A handmaid set a chair for her, throwing over it a soft rug, and brought a footstool for her feet, while another bare a silver basket, with rims of gold, and placed it ready, filled with purple yarn. When Helen was seated, she gazed long and earnestly at Telemachus, and then, turning to her husband, she said; "Menelaus, shall I utter the thought which is in my heart? Nay, speak I must. Ne'er saw I such a likeness, either in man or woman, as is the likeness of this fair youth to Odysseus. Surely this is Telemachus, whom he left an infant in Ithaca when the host was summoned to Troy to fight in a worthless woman's cause."

"I have marked it too," answered Menelaus. "Such were his very hands and feet, and the carriage of his head, and the glance of his eye. Moreover, when I made mention of Odysseus he covered his face, and wept full sore."

Telemachus was still too much distressed to speak, and Pisistratus had to answer for him: "Thou sayest truly, my lord; it is Telemachus himself. Nestor sent me with him to inquire of thee, and crave counsel of thy wisdom. He is left like an orphan in his home, with none to aid him, and take his father's place."

Then Menelaus drew near to Telemachus, and taking his hand kindly said: "Welcome again, and thrice welcome to these halls, thou son of my trustiest friend and helper! It was the dream of my life to bring Odysseus and all his household from Ithaca, and give him a home and a city in this land, that we might grow old together in friendship and loving-kindness, never to be parted until death. But envious heaven has blighted my hopes and hindered his return."

At these sad words every eye was moist, and all sat silent, absorbed in sorrowful memories. Pisistratus was the first to speak, and his words roused the rest from their melancholy mood. "Son of Atreus," he said, "my father has often spoken of thy wisdom, and perchance it has taught thee that sorrow is an ill guest at a banquet. The dead, indeed, claim their due, and he would be hard-hearted who would grudge them the poor tribute of a tear. But we cannot mourn for ever, even for such a one as my brother Antilochus, whom I never saw, but thou knewest him well, stout in battle, and swift in the pursuit."

"'Tis well said," replied Menelaus. "Thou art wise beyond thy years, and a true son of Nestor. Happy is he, beyond the common lot of men, and smooth and fair runs the thread of his Destiny. He dwells in a green old age in his father's house, and sees his sons growing up around him, true heirs of his valour and prudence. Now let us banish care, and get to our supper, for the day is far spent, and we have matter for talk which will last us all the morrow."

When they had finished eating, and the cups were about to be replenished, Helen rose from her seat, and, whispering a few words to the cupbearer, left the hall. In a few minutes she returned, carrying in her hand a small phial, whose contents she poured into the great mixing-bowl from which the cups were filled. "Now, drink," she said, "and fear not that black care will pay us a second visit to-night. I have poured into the wine a drug of wondrous potency and virtue, which was given me in Egypt by Polydamna, the wife of Thon. Many such drugs the soil of Egypt bears, some baneful and some good. And the Egyptians are skilled in such craft beyond all mankind. He who drinks of this drug will be armed for that day against all the assaults of sorrow, and will not shed one tear, though his father and mother were to die, no, not though he saw his brother or his son slain before his eyes. So mighty is the virtue of this drug." And when they had drunk of the magic potion Helen began again: "'Tis now the witching hour, when all hearts are opened, and the burden of life presses lightest on men's shoulders. Come, let me tell you a story, one among many, of the deeds and the hardihood of Odysseus. It was in the days of the siege, and the Trojans were kept close prisoners in their city by the leaguer of the Greeks. Then he disguised himself as a beggar, clothed himself in filthy rags, and marred his goodly person with cruel stripes. In such fashion he entered the foemen's walls, as if he were a slave flying from a hard master.[1] And I alone in all the city knew who he was. So I brought him to my house, and began to question him; but he made as if he understood not. But when I entertained him as an honoured guest, and swore a solemn oath not to betray him, he trusted me, and declared all the purpose of the Greeks. At dead of night he stole out into the town, and, having slain many of the Trojans with the edge of the sword, he went back to the camp, and brought much information to his friends.

[Footnote 1: Compare the stratagem of Zopyrus, in "Stories from Greek History."]

"When morning came, the voice of wailing rose high in the streets of Troy; but my heart rejoiced, for I was filled with longing for my home, and my eyes were opened to the folly which I had wrought by the beguilement of Aphrodite, when I left my fatherland and broke faith with my lord."

"Tis a good story, and thou hast told it well, fair wife," said Menelaus. "Now hear my tale. It was the time when I and the other champions were shut up in the wooden horse; and Odysseus was with us. Then thou camest thither, led, I suppose, by some god, hostile to Greece, who wished to work our ruin; and Deiphobus followed thee. Three times thou didst pace around our hollow ambush, feeling it with thy hands, and calling aloud to the princes of Greece by name; and thy voice was like the voice of all their wives. There we sat, I, and Diomede, and the rest, and heard thee calling. Now I and Diomede were minded to answer thee, or to go forth and confer with thee; but Odysseus suffered it not, and when one of our number was about to lift up his voice he pressed his hands on that foolish mouth, and restrained him by force until thou hadst left the place. And so he saved all our lives."

"Yes," said Telemachus, "he had a heart of iron. But what has it availed him? It could not save him from ruin. Howbeit, no more of this; 'tis time to go to rest and forget our cares in sleep."

II

Early next morning Telemachus found his host sitting by his bedside; and as soon as he was dressed Menelaus led him to a quiet place, and inquired the reason of his coming. He listened with attention while Telemachus explained the purpose of his visit; but when he heard of the suitors, and their riot and waste, he was filled with indignation.

"What!" he cried, "would these dastards fill the seat and wed the wife of that mighty man? Their lot shall be the lot of a pair of fawns, left by the mother hind in a lion's lair. The hind goes forth to pasture, and in her absence the lion returns, and devours them where they lie. Even so shall Odysseus return, and bring swift destruction on the whole crew.

"But thou hast asked me what I know of the fortunes of Odysseus, since he departed from Troy; and verily I will tell thee all that I have heard, without turning aside in my tale. I must go back to the time when I lay wind-bound with my ships in a little island off the mouth of the Nile. The island is called Pharos, and it is distant a day's voyage from the river's mouth. I had lain there twenty days, and still not a breath of air ruffled the glassy surface of the sea. All our stores were consumed, and we had nothing to eat but the fish which my men caught with rudely fashioned hooks and lines. One day I left my men busy with their angling, and wandered away along the shore, full of sad thoughts, and wondering how all this would end. Suddenly I heard a light footstep on the pebbles, and there stepped forth from behind a tall rock a young maiden in white, flowing robes. Full of dread I saw her coming towards me; for I knew that she was no mortal woman. But her look was gracious, and her voice was sweet; so I took courage as she said: 'Who art thou, stranger, and why lingerest thou with thy company in this desert place? I am Eidothea, daughter of Proteus, the ancient one of the sea; and I am ready to help thee, if thou wilt tell me thy need.'